


since we've no place to go

by landfill_lady



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe, happy holidays signe!!!, i'm a sap i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady
Summary: a/n: i figurefantastic beastsprobably takes place in late november or early december, and i didn't really want to do a 'one year later' type of thing, which is why this fic isn't established relationship. sorry if that was what you wanted! T.T





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Signe_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/gifts).



> a/n: i figure _fantastic beasts_ probably takes place in late november or early december, and i didn't really want to do a 'one year later' type of thing, which is why this fic isn't established relationship. sorry if that was what you wanted! T.T

In the few weeks he's been traveling with Mr. Scamander, Credence has been so run off his feet between caring for impossible creatures and trying to master his magic that he's barely had a thought to spare for the upcoming holidays. But in the few moments when he's imagined Christmas morning with Newt Scamander, he'd pictured breakfasting on eggnog and cold mince pies, perhaps even a small exchange of gifts.

He certainly hadn't expected to find himself pelting wildly through the streets of Chicago, chasing a small duck-billed animal with a penchant for diamonds.

He'd been woken at 7:30 by Mr. Scamander searching frantically through their hotel room. "It's the Niffler," he'd told Credence breathlessly, looking frazzled and apologetic. "I'm afraid he's run off again."

(All things considered, Credence is beginning to suspect that "frazzled and apologetic" is Mr. Scamander's default expression.)

Credence had volunteered to track the beast down, of course; he's always been good at finding things, and after all, Mr. Scamander has so many other animals to look after. It hadn't taken too long to locate the creature, sifting busily through the riches at the second jewelry store he'd checked. But as it turns out, locating the animal is only half the battle. The other half is  _catching_ the infernal thing.

So far, Credence has chased the Niffler through five department stores, two banks, and one museum. When he finally catches it, after what must be hours of wild chasing, Credence is sweaty, breathless, and thoroughly peeved.

Oddly, the creature is almost well-behaved on the walk back to the hotel, aside from nosing hopefully at the small, foil-wrapped package in Credence's coat pocket.

"Don't touch that, please," Credence mutters down into his lapels, tugging the package away. "Really, I mean it," he adds, doing his best to be stern as the Niffler continues tugging at one corner with its beak. "It's Mr. Scamander's Christmas present, and I haven't got time to make him another one."

There's a small, disdainful sniff from the region of his breast pocket, but the present is dutifully released. After a few more minutes of trudging through snow, they reach the hotel doors.

Credence practically bounds up the stairs to Room 302, so happy to be back indoors. When he enters the room, the suitcase is lying on the floor, closed but unlocked, which probably means that Newt is still puttering around inside.

Credence opens it up, careful not to lift the lid wide enough for any other wayward animals to escape, and calls down, "I found the Niffler!"

There's a distant crash, and then Newt's cheerful voice floats up. "Oh, Credence, perfect timing. Could you bring him down?"

Credence does so, making sure to close the lid behind him. The Niffler practically bounds out of his jacket and down the magical stairs in front of him, and Credence is so wrapped up in following its movement that he almost doesn't notice what Newt's done to the place. 

Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration; it would be impossible not to notice what Newt's done to the place. The inside of the suitcase looks like a holiday display from a store window: the walls are decked out in gold and silver tinsel, a magical fire burns brightly in the center of the room, and the whole area is sprinkled copiously with magical snow. Newt's set up a wooden folding table by the Bowtruckle tree, and it's absolutely covered in holiday food: a large, steaming turkey, piles and piles of mince pies, cheesy biscuits, and two thin flutes of what looks like champagne. Credence can't help gaping - he's not sure if he's ever seen this much food in his  _life._

A radio set next to the folding table is playing a strange, ethereal version of a holiday song, and a small circle of Mooncalves have surrounded it. They're taking turns headbutting it curiously, trying to figure out how it works, and the gentle thumps make the sound crackle oddly every couple of seconds as the song winds down.

"That was  _Auld Lang Syne,_ by Lionel Adie and his Lyrical Leprechauns," the radio announcer says tinnily. "Next up, Myrtle Wilkins with  _Won't You Floo Me for the Holidays._ Merry Christmas, all you witches and wizards, and we here at American Wizarding Wireless hope you're spending the holidays with those you hold dear."

Newt waves his wand absently at the radio, murmuring a spell under his breath, and the sound dies down. Then he turns to face Credence, smiling sheepishly.

"Happy holidays! I'm sorry, I know it's not much. But I've done my best."

"It's perfect," Credence breathes, taking everything in with wide eyes. "But, Mr. Scamander..."

"Newt, please," he's corrected for what must be the thousandth time.

"...Newt. Aren't there other people you should be celebrating with?" Surely, all of this can't be just for  _him,_ after all.

 "Not really," Newt says airily, his casual tone belied by the sad look in his eyes. "I used to spend the holidays with my parents, of course, but after my expulsion, they were... somewhat less eager to have me around the house. I've been spending Christmas alone, for the past few years. I hope you won't mind keeping me company."

His green eyes meet Credence's hopefully, and Credence flushes to the tips of his toes and fumbles his present into Newt's hands, discomfited by the attention.

"Um. This is for you." 

Newt unwraps the cheap, dingy paper almost reverently, looking for all the world as though he's been handed a chest of diamonds rather than a small, misshapen parcel. When he sees what's inside, his freckled cheeks split into a wide grin.

Credence had bought the small, gilt-framed painting of a dragon for a nickel from a second-hand store in Pennsylvania, thinking of Newt. He'd spent the whole afternoon digging furtively through Newt's old spellbooks, trying to figure out the right words to say to make it come alive like the other wizarding paintings he'd seen. It had taken a lot of reading, and hours of trial and error, but finally the little green dragon had shivered and stretched out languorously over its rocky perch, breathing little yellow curls of painted flame. He knows it's not much, but he'd thought Newt might enjoy it.

"I love it," Newt tells him sincerely, a frown creasing his brow. "But- Credence, I'm so terribly sorry, I haven't got a present for you in return."

Credence has to bite the inside of his lip abruptly to keep himself from laughing.

"I'm sorry," he says, seeing the hurt in those green eyes. "But, Mr. - Newt - I thought you were joking."

He spreads his arms out, indicating everything around them. "You didn't forget to give me a present - you gave me Christmas."

Newt rubs the back of his head, looking embarrassed but pleased. "Well. Really, it was nothing. I'm just happy you-"

Before he can finish his sentence, a swarm of doxies descends from the ceiling. One of them - the ringleader, Credence supposes - tugs something bright and green off the festive table, while the others hang back and watch, snickering in their eerie little voices. 

It zips back up from the table, holding its spoils of war, and perches itself in the air a couple of feet above Credence and Newt, and the others join it, snickering and jostling to get a better look downwards.

"What's that?" Credence asks curiously, pointing at the green sprig it's holding.

Newt tilts his head up to follow Credence's finger, and immediately blushes to the tips of his ears. 

" _Doxies_ ," he says, like a curse. "Um, that's called mistletoe. When two people stand beneath it together on Christmas, they're supposed to, er. Kiss."

"Oh," Credence says, feeling a matching blush growing on his own cheeks. 

"We don't- um, there's no reason we  _have_ to. It's not- magic, or anything. Just a stupid tradition," Newt says reassuringly.

Oddly, instead of feeling relieved by the words, there's a keen, swooping feeling of disappointment in Credence's chest. 

 It must show on his face, because Newt says hurriedly, "Not that we don't _not_ have to... I mean, if you like, er..... I just mean, um. I'm rambling again, aren't I? Oh bugger."

When Credence leans shakily in and stops his mouth with a kiss, it's the scariest thing he's ever done. But when, after a moment, Newt curls a hand into Credence's messy hair and kisses him  _back,_ the fear disappears immediately, replaced by a kind of leaping joy he's never felt before. 

Above the two of them, Credence can hear the doxies snickering. He doesn't pay them much mind, too caught up in the feeling of Newt's arms wrapped around him. This, he thinks distantly, must be the best Christmas present in all the whole world.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "let it snow" by bing crosby


End file.
